Heavenly Love
by RashelleAndJag
Summary: Not really crossover, yet, but this is the best place to post a Teen Angel fic (slash!) Major makeover just completed.
1. Warnings

I have no idea where to post this story. I guess it'll just have to be here. Oh well. I'll probably cross this story over with something eventually. Maybe Sabrina – Salem did star in an episode. Although it will be a very brief role. 

I was watching teen angel today, on a channel that shows all those outdated and forgotten T.V. shows, and I had an inspiration that could not be denied. An inspiration for a teen angel slash fic. There's something wrong with me. 

            Once again, Jag would like to assert that she had absolutely nothing to do with this. Not her work. Product of Rashelle's depraved mind alone. 

            Warning – This is Slash, granted, its fluffy little Will & Grace type slash with smoochies and no NC-17 stuff of any kind. I am going to rate this R, for all those people who are absolutely appalled by boy/boy relationships. 

            If any of you are reading, this, turn back now. 

            For those of you who think you are, mature enough to handle it, well, read on. 

            Back Story - 

_            Teen Angel _is an old show. Like 1997. I'm not sure I have all my facts straight, since it's been about five years since I consistently watched the show. For those of you who don't remember the plot line of this long forgotten show, which only had one season, here it is -  

**Plot Outline:** After eating a six month old hamburger, Marty DePolo dies and God's Cousin Rod appoints him as his best friend's guardian angel.

Sad, huh?

            Rashelle Waterburn


	2. Prologue

_~          Prologue_

_            An excerpt from Teen Angel, with much liberty taken._

_            "Okay, all we have to do is make sure I eat the burger." Marty said to Steve after Marty had made an absolute mess of the universe by playing with the basic principals of time and space, or something. Whatever the Big Head was saying. _

_            All he had wanted was to not die. Was that such a big deal? I mean a little trip in the old time machine and everything gets fixed, right? But no, it had to be against the stupid laws of space time. Darn it. So when he changed it so he didn't eat the burger. . . Steve did instead. And died. And made a pretty snazzy angel, if Marty did say so himself. But that wasn't the point. Steve wasn't supposed to die.  _

_ And now he was hiding in Steve's closet (which was too clean, he was going to have to conjure up dirty socks or something) and he had to watch himself eat the stupid six month old burger and die, again. Nothing was stupider than having to watch himself croak. _

_            So anyway, no one was more surprised than him when Mr. Responsible, Steve the Level-headed, (So level you could balance six trigonometry textbooks on his head, Marty knew, he had tried). Anyway, he comes bursting out of the closet like his pants are on fire. Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!_

_            This of course, led to the inevitable screaming, hiding, and jumping by their doubles. Or was it previous selves? No, doubles was simpler. _

_            "Why couldn't you let me eat it?" Marty asked confused. _

_            "You're my best friend." Steve replied. "I couldn't just let you die."_

_            Pretty quick, their hands were wrapped around each other, avoiding the wings. Steve looked pretty hot in white and gold and wings, Marty noticed. Part of the whole golden-boy image, Marty supposed. And I did not just think my friend was hot. Not me. I live in a world where pretty girls can't see me when I look up their skirts. All manly man, me._

_ "I love you, man," Steve whispered, real quiet. _

_            "I think they should get a room." Either past-Marty or past-Steve said. _


	3. Chapter One

_~          _Chapter One

            So everything was back to normal, right. The fixed that gaping hole or whatever that had been created, and there was no longer a big heavenly party of death happening upstairs. That was a good thing, right? So why did he feel so empty?

            Maybe it was because Steve couldn't remember a thing. Couldn't remember eating the stupid burger and dying because Marty irresponsibly (or so the Big Head said) went back in time to stop himself from dying. Couldn't remember being an angel. (And a better one than, Marty, truth be told). Couldn't remember stopping Marty from eating the burger, even though he knew it would cause chaos across the universe, because he loved him . . . Steve loved him. Marty DePolo. 

            And that was not the stick up his butt. He had always known that Steve loved him. They were best friends. Marty's life used to consist of getting Steve into trouble. And Steve never blew him off. 

               Even in the face of overwhelming public opinion. . . _If you ask me wherever Marty is now it's very hot and he's being poked by a pitch-fork. _Or better yet, _if Marty is in Heaven he's chained to a bunch of other guys picking up trash. _

            Now, Marty's afterlife still pretty much consisted of getting Steve into trouble, except he had paranormal abilities at his command now. Which was pretty scary. Maybe Steve should have been the one to eat the burger, after all, he's make a real guardian angel.  Steve had always been the only one who could talk any sort of sense into him. 

            "What's wrong, Marty?" Steve asked for the thousandth time. "The Big Head on your case, again?"

            "No." Marty said. The Big Head had been pretty quiet lately. Like he knew that the only reason Marty didn't skip off across the universe in his new "mortal" body was that it meant Steve would be dead. Like he knew that Steve was the only reason Marty was still around, and not hiding in a cereal box on a far away planet somewhere. (You'd be surprised at the accommodations available in cereal boxes).

             "Then what's wrong, buddy, I haven't seen you this down since Susan Greene tore out your heart and stomped on it." 

            Marty shuddered. He really didn't need the image of beautiful, popular Susan dumping a bowl of punch on him and canning him stuck in his head. His . . . thighs had ached for days. And all he'd said was she had lovely . . . rear end. "Well, thank you very much for that pleasant reminder of the complete failure of my existence."

            "What?" Steve said softly. His big blue eyes held puzzlement. 

            **Shut up, shut up, and shut up!!! Marty told his brain. You are not thinking that Steve is cute. You are NOT thinking about his big blue eyes. You have all the romance of a dead toad. You CANNOT be getting all poetic at the sight of your best friend.**

            But that blond hair is golden as the sun and as soft to touch as silk. He knew, he had ran his hand through those fine strands maybe once a day for what felt like a lifetime. . . 

Well, it wasn't like it was the first time he'd ever had less than brotherly feelings about Steve. . . _I couldn't bear to see my bud get hurt._ **Spoken like a true guardian angel.  To feel the pain of others is a sign of pure grace.** _So I agreed to go out with him on Friday night. . . _**Shut up, shut up, and shut up!!!**

            "Marty, yoo–hoo, anybody home?" 

            "What?" 

            "That's my line." Steve said. "What's been eating you? You don't look so good. Even your wings look . . . crumpled." Steve reached out and nonchalantly smoothed the feathers.

            And it felt so good. . . 

            "Remember when they got broken, huh, and we couldn't exactly find anyone to fix angel wings?" Marty asked. "And you went to your father for advice, said something about a pet chicken with a broken wing, and he said you should put it out of its misery?" 

            "Yeah. We got that problem fixed, what about it?"

            "You should have put me out of my misery, man. It's my freaking' destiny to die and be the biggest joke of the afterlife, and your destiny to win the lottery eight times and date fabulous super models." 

            "What?" said Steve.

            "The Big Head told me so. I'm going for a walk." And Marty tried a fancy exit, like the one Steve had demonstrated during his brief stint as an angel, but ended up just discorporating from the room.  


	4. Chapter Two

~          Chapter Two

            Steven Beauchamp was confused. Very. Marty was acting strange. This wasn't terribly unusual. He was Marty, after all. The day Marty started acting like a normal person, was the day Steve would eat his spandex wrestling unitard. But he actually seemed to be kind of depressed which was not Marty at all.

            Steve got up, and went downstairs. His little sister, Casey needed a little help on her science project, so Steve got covered in Popsicle sticks and glue. If Marty was watching, he no doubt would have asked Steve if he would like some tea for Mrs Patticakes and conjured up an impromptu tea party complete with dolls and pink ribbons, or maybe he would have just picked up the Popsicle sticks and made popsicle-zilla and gone tramping through Casey's City of the Future. 

            Well, actually that probably wasn't what Marty would have done. The wonderful thing about Marty was that it was absolutely impossible to predict anything that he might do. 

            It wasn't the same when he was gone. In the time since Marty had died, he had gotten so used to him just popping in and out of Steve's life like it was his own. He had never thought that maybe Marty had other places to be, other friends out there somewhere. 

            And it unnerved him. Not quite as much as the time he had woken up in the middle of the night to see Marty standing over his bed, watching him sleep, but still. . . 

            He should go out. Hang out with his friends. That was a laugh. Even dead, Marty was the only friend Steve had or wanted to have. Jordan's idea of a conversation was "Duuuddeeee" and the twins were like . . . hanging out with a couple of forty year olds. Geeky forty year olds. 

Okay, then, the library. He did have a paper due. And he was usually pretty good about finishing these things. Unless Marty came up with some crazy scheme. Which was happening pretty often lately.  

            Marty was currently drifting through the universe. It was actually pretty fun if you could get over the whole no-molecules-of-air thing. That sensation was actually rather itchy. 

            And *poof* he was abruptly sitting in front of the Big Head, (really, God's cousin Rod, but Marty would never ever call him that). And he was looking rather mad. "Please don't eat me."

            "Marty." The Big Head said warningly. 

            "What can I do for you? Hawaiian beach party? No, I've got it, a set of sunglasses." Marty used his infinite powers as a protector in the service of light/goodness to summon up a gigantic set of sunglasses. It really wasn't his fault they were pink and star-shaped.

            "Marty." The Big Head said a little more strongly.

            "On second thought, you know, that is just not the look for you."  Marty snapped his fingers and sent those monstrosities back to wherever they had come from. Probably a planet in the Larne system. The whole population had such bad taste. But truly awesome chicken wings, go figure. 

            "Marty, why are you neglecting your duties. No scratch that." The Big Head snorted. If there was anything in the world Marty would rather not see, it was a gigantic head (about ten feet tall) snorting. I mean, nostril flare? Eeeww. "Why are you neglecting your duties more than usual?"

            "Little ol' me?" Marty asked innocently, with extra-wide innocent eyes. 

            "Never mind." The Big Head shook his head, in distaste about as genuine as Marty's innocent act. "I have an assignment for you." 


	5. Chapter Three

~          Chapter Three

            "You've got to be kidding." Marty blinked twice. And then again, for good measure.

            "I'm afraid, Marty, that the defining, governing forces of the universe don't kid around. Well, unless you count the whole Noah's Ark thing. That was actually pretty funny."

            Marty determined he was never ever going say that phrase again. Giant floating heads are very disturbing when they are chuckling to themselves. Besides, he was supposed to be the funny one. That Noah's ark comment was just unnerving. A flood that wipes out almost all of mankind. . .  Marty could make better jokes with his wings wrapped around his head. "So I really have to do this?" 

            "What did I just say?" The Big Head found its most frequent expression (when dealing with him anyway), which was exasperation. "You must admit that using you as Steve's guardian angel was a somewhat desperate ploy on our parts. I would have just let you go . . . you know, down there, but my cousin can be absolutely relentless."

            "As in your cousin, God." Sometimes Marty was sure that whoever the defining, governing force of the universe was, it was some soul with a sense of humor so much more perverse than Marty's, it would be like comparing those little germy things - amoebas that's it - with elephants.

            "No, don't be silly, HE doesn't care much either way. . . Something about equilibrium within the universal pool. No, my cousin Anubis."

            "Like the dog-thing?" Marty wanted to do the funky Egyptian dance. But he restrained himself. Even for a conversation with the Big Floating Head, this was a little out in left field. Hell, this was past the bleachers. 

            "Are you going to do it or not?" 

            "Of course I'm going to do it. Time in the sun, pretty alien girls, a chance to talk shop. . ." Maybe someone else could show Marty how to do those really snazzy parlor tricks. Then, he'd have something to show Steve when he got home. "What more could I ask for?"

            "Marty! This is supposed to be an exercise in self-improvement. A chance to better yourself and find the strength of your soul. Not yet another opportunity for you to abuse your powers and engage in debauchery. You are a symbol of a higher goodly power. Not Sabrina Spellman."

            "Sabrina Who?" Marty tilted his head to the side. "The pretty witch girl." _Blond, blue, blue eyes. . . _

            "Never mind. I'll transport you to the Guardian Academy immediately."

            "No! Wait a minute! What about Steve?"

            "What about Steve?" 

            "I mean, now that he's guardian angel-less." Marty stammered. Believing that Steve would be better off without him, and being actually unable to go to Steve. . . Were two very different things.

            "Yes, well, in his case that might actually be an improvement."

            Marty flinched. 

            "Don't worry; I'll have someone look in on him." The Big Floating Head snapped its fingers, and Marty disappeared. Rod smiled softly to himself. "Two of each kind of animal. Hilarious." He grinned a little more at the thought that he was the one playing Noah in this cosmic joke, and doing all the matchmaking. 


	6. Chapter Four

~          Chapter Four

            Steve was starting to get worried. After Marty had been gone a day, well, it had been boring. And now it was almost the second night and Steve still hadn't heard from him. Not a peep. And he was worried. 

            They really hadn't been apart this long since Marty died. . . _Six months ~ a summer, he had spent a whole summer without him. Scored really horribly on his final exams, (Not counting Nitsky's which he hadn't even bothered to take) but the teachers had all been sympathetic,(Not counting Nitsky)  and put more weight on his first term grades (Not counting Nitsky, he repeated American History 101)._

            He'd tried calling Marty, softly, and then loudly, until he was frustrated to the point he had yelled out Marty's name. That hadn't worked, and then at supper, no one would look directly at him. They probably thought he was mentally disturbed, or as Aunt Judy would say, a real nut cake. Steve could have taken that, if Marty had just come back from who-the-hell-knows-where.

            He was starting to think that maybe he was crazy. Maybe Marty had died and that was that. Out, out brief candle and all that. Maybe this past year had been a dream, a dream he couldn't keep. 

            "Steve-honey?" his mother called. 

            "Yes?" he yelled back from his bed, not really thinking. He could almost believe it was all a delusion, except for the strange way Marty had looked before he left. Like he was hurting, somehow. 

            "I'd really like to talk to you, baby?" his mother asked in a questioning tone. 

            "Okay," he said reluctantly, alarm bells ringing. His mother hadn't called him baby in years. 

            Except. . . At that "intervention" where she had confronted him with all his friends and the gym coach, with the shop teacher. This day was looking better and better. 

            He mentally tucked in his shirt – he would never really tuck in his shirt, Marty thought it made him look fat, but the gesture was soothing. He took a deep breath, and thus prepared, journeyed to the kitchen. 

            It was worse than he thought. 

            There was a strange person in the room, and he didn't need a road map to see that this was another psychiatrist. 

            "Steve, honey, I'd like you to meet Dr. Jonathon Smith. He works at the Treebolt Center for Teens in Crisis." 

            Screaming on the inside, Steve offered the doctor his hand. "Hello, Dr. Smith, it's a pleasure to meet you." Polite. When all else fails be polite. If he gave a good first impression, then maybe everything else could just melt away.  

            "Hello, Steve." The doctor looked at his mother for reassurance. "I've heard that you've been having some trouble with your grades recently. . ." 

            "They've been a little down, but I'm working on them." Steve tried out his brightest smile but it somehow came out flat. 

            "Well, how have you been feeling lately?" 

            "Tired, mostly." 

            "Your mother seems to think that your friend Marty's been on your mind a lot." 

            "He's – He was my best friend. Of course I think about him. All the time."

            "It's not always healthy to dwell on these things, maybe if you had someone to talk about it with." 

            "We talk about him all the time." Steve shot a pleading glance towards his mom. 

            "Yes, Steven, we do." His mother's voice was soft. "And sometimes I'm not even sure if you realize that he's dead." 

            _Well, of course I realize that he's dead. Otherwise he wouldn't be able to walk through walls or get poured out a milk pitcher or anything. Got Marty? No, no I don't. What I have is a psychiatrist and a concerned parent. I'm doomed. _

"We only want to help you, Steve." Dr. Smith offered somewhat lacking reassurance. 

            "That's why I think you should go see this." She held out a brochure. 

            The words seemed to bore into his mind. **Learning to Adapt, A Weekend Retreat for Teens. **


	7. Chapter Five

~          Chapter Five

            Marty should have known that this was all a set up. The Guardian Academy was the world's biggest snooze fest.  The accommodations were plebeian. _He missed Steve. _The classes were terribly boring. _He missed Steve. _They all centered on morals and ethics within the parameters of guardian angel powers. _He missed Steve. _Not even one nifty little parlour trick. _He missed Steve. _And it was a place of perpetual rainfall. This was pretty appropriate because Marty felt like crying. 

            It had taken him about four hours before he decided to pop away quickly and visit Steve. Only to discover he couldn't. A little red-headed man in a green coat informed him that such classes held extreme mandatory practises once you registered, because otherwise they couldn't fill their student quota.  Whatever _that meant. _

            Maybe this was good for him. He'd been this side of an irrepressible crush for so long it had nearly killed him. And what was worse, Steve didn't seem to have a clue. . . 

               _Do you really think I'm a good date? **Yeah!  'Cause you were being yourself. And girls like that.  Besides, you are cute.  **_Shut up._ **No, you've got a young Conrad O'Brian thing going_._ And you have great eyes**. _I said, shut up. _**Alright, alright.  **_

**               And it wasn't like Steve was suddenly going to wake up one morning and get a clue. . . Marty could just see it. . . **

               Steve: {Sits up in bed, pushing back those pale blue covers (So, so soft) with a great big smile on his face} "Hey, Marty, I think I've just realized something." 

               Marty: "Yes, Steve?" {Distracted look, perhaps innocently thumbing the pages of the Guardian Angel Manuel} 

               Steve: "I think we are soulmates, man." {Deep, deep bottomless ocean look to his eyes. The one that just made Marty . . . curl, all over and inside.} 

               Marty: "Really, Steve?" {A little breathless, poised for disappointment} 

               Steve: "Really, Marty. Come over here so I can suck on your tonsils." 

               Okay, he'd really spent too much time on that little fantasy. Hey, he was a healthy red-blooded typical American teenager. Except for the gay part. And the dead part. I really have to stop thinking. . . Okay, now. . . No, now. . . No, Steve in spandex. . . Noooooooo!!!!!!

               "Left a love back home did'cha fella?" 

               Marty looked up. Oh my god, it was the Jolly Green Giant.  

               "Nope, his cousin, Lolly." 

               Lolly? Like a candy? Or a really bad euphemism? 

               "You've got a pretty dirty mind there, fella." 

               "YOU READ MINDS?" 

               "Yeah, we'll just call it a perk." Lolly smiled, showing yellowy teeth. 

               "Oh, man, haven't you heard of extra whitening?" Marty couldn't help himself; his mouth had a tendency to run away with him. And it got him a double viewing. 

               "So you're a Guardian Angel in love with your charge, huh?" It was a gentle jab. 

               "Point taken." Marty shook his head, and turned bright red. 

               "He looks like a real sweetie." 

               "He is." A trifle defiantly. 

               "Yeah, cute ass, too." 

               "Hey! That's my Fantasy Steve's ass you're ogling!" Marty was indignant "And it's not cute, it's . . ." Freaking amazingly hot. And firm. And warm. And yes, he did on occasion engage in a little male-bonding style ass-slapping, what was it to you? . . . He turned absolutely bright red. 

               "I think you should tell him." 

               "Steve?!? He'd crawl into a corner and die." 

               "You never know about these sorts of things." Lolly said enigmatically. And added, "And it's a hell of a package to just write off. . ." He wiggled his eyebrows (big green bushes) speculatively. 

               This was definitely very, very bad for him. He had a lot more control over his thoughts when Steve standing four feet away from him. Call it incentive. 


	8. Chapter Six

~             Chapter Six

               Maybe Steve was a complete head case. It would really explain a lot if Steve was. Like how come Steve was about to break down and cry because he hadn't seen his dead best friend in four days. Or why Steve was thinking in third person. 

               The ink blots still looked like ink blots no matter how hard he squinted. And what made it worse was that he had an audience. A girl who was a mess of hair with enormous buck teeth jammed into (Steve kids you not) neon pink braces. She had introduced herself, with a very horsy laugh, as Emma-Jean who loves ballet. Steve had shuddered and accepted her hand for a very hardy handshake. 

               Then he had met Gory. No, not Corey, he had checked. Gory was all of four feet, and black wrapped, pasty faced, with purple eyeliner.  

               Right now they were both staring intently at Steve while a "trained therapist" (read – the doctor's monkey-boy), held out a blue ink blot. 

               "An angel." 

               "Do you think about angels a lot, Steve?" The therapist sounded bored. 

               The answer there was obvious. All the freaking time since one had pretty much moved into his bedroom. "No not really, it just looks like angel wings here." Steve pointed to the picture. "Kinda soft and flowing." **Nah, a guy doesn't feel another guy's wings, man.**** _Come on. Get with the times_**_._

               "Ah." 

               Was that a good ah, or a bad ah? Was he going to spend the rest in a mental institution? Should he just give up right now and announce, all **Sixth Sense-like,that he saw dead people? Like his best friend, and Abraham Lincoln. **

               "Do you think about heaven a lot?" 

               "Not really. Sometimes." Steve knew the minute the words left his mouth that that was a bad answer. Because now the therapist looked interested. 

               "Do you think about dying?"

               "No." Steve never thought about dying anymore. Not since Marty had come back. Because, even though Marty was dead, he was so much alive that . . . It was overpowering. He somehow made Steve feel alive. It was like he needed Marty just to keep breathing. Marty was the air, and Marty was the feeling that he got first thing in the morning, like he actually wanted to get up and live. 

               "Never?" 

               "I used to, back when my friend Marty died. But not anymore." When Marty got back, Steve was going to hold on to him and never, ever let go. 

               "Well, that's fairly normal following a tragedy. Emma-Jean, why don't you tell me what you see in this ink blot?" 


	9. Chapter Seven

~             Chapter Seven 

               "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon." Marty bounced. "Can you get me out of here or not?" 

               "Maybe, just a second." Lolly's green face was scrunched up in concentration. 

               Marty tapped the arm of the couch. Over and over and over again. It wasn't going to be too long before some one decided to come and find them. This place was like . . . a work camp, run by beautiful golden angels. Whom were always polite. And infuriating. 

               "Yeah, notta problem! The tie between you and this Steve is very strong. I haven't seen such energy lines. And he wants you home real, real bad." 

               "Really?" 

               "He's dreaming of you." 

               "Aww, shucks." Marty's smile threatened to split him open and spill him out over the golden tile. (Can we say interior designer, boys and girls?). 

               "I think the easy way to do this is to send you into his dreams. When you get there you can step out into the real world." 

               "Stop talking and send me already." Heady was so not going to be pleased. Oh, yeah! He was so ready to get the hell out of this Popsicle stand. Of course, this Popsicle stand was run by heaven, but. . . Anyway, he was going home. Oh yeah. 

               And he didn't want to start thinking about the fact that Steve had become his home. A geeky klingon-speaking, chess-playing home. That looked freaking hot in a wetsuit. 

               "Okay, brace yourself." 

               "What?" Marty turned his head to face Lolly, but it was too late, the world was fading away. . . 

               Ugh. Yuck. Let's put that at the top of his "10 things to NEVER EVER do again list". Marty wasn't quite sure that all of him was here. Like maybe he was missing a spleen. Okay, where the hell was here? Right, Steve's dream. He could do this. All he had to do now was step out into the real world, and wake Steve up with his triumphant return. 

               But. . . 

               Lolly said Steve was dreaming of him. So it wouldn't really hurt to hang around here and see exactly what Steve was dreaming about. Right? 

               It was a hospital. Which was cool. There were no swanky nurses though. What kinda teenage boy     dreams of a hospital without super sexy hot nurses? Steve, of course. Why was Marty not surprised? 

               He paced around a little bit. Where on earth was that boy? 

               Rm 111 . . . He hadn't been there before. But the letters seemed so strong, bright and bold and substantial in this world where nothing quite seemed real. 

               He opened the door. And it seemed like he had been terribly, terribly wrong.       

               Because he obviously had been here. He or rather his dream self lay on the bed, hooked up to machines that looked so monstrous, that Marty knew it had to be a dream exaggeration. 

               Steve sat in the corner, hands over his eyes. . . Because he never could stand to cry in front of his best friend. Not even when they were five and Marty had stomped on Stevie's pet worm, Nibbles. 

               Something smelled horribly rank. Like the hospital smell, and stale vomit and worse. And dream-Marty twitched and writhed on the bed. Sweat poured off his forehead. 

               And Steve cried. . . Loud and breathless, like he'd never stop. And his sobs had words to them. "I give up, dare me. Please, please, dare me. . ." 

               **You always dare me.  And I always do it.  So this time I dare you....to eat......The Burger.**

**               All right!  I will! . . . It's not like it's gonna kill me. **

**               "Steve. . ." Eyes looked up at him. And there was that depthful, deep ocean look. Endless blue. Marty felt his soul shattering. No, no, no. **

               "You're not supposed to be here. That doesn't happen yet. You die first." 

               "Man," Marty tried to get the words past his throat. "Steven." 

               On the bed, dream-Marty gasped, a shuddering gasp. Alarms wailed, pierced everything and everyone. A white coated figure ran into the room at full speed, looking like something seen out of the corner of an eye. 

               In perfect clarity, lying on the bed, Marty stopped breathing. 


	10. Chapter Eight

~             Chapter Eight

               "You were invading his dreams, what did you expect?" The Big Head was talking, but Marty wasn't listening. He was tearing great big handfuls of feathers from his wings and watching them float, down, down, through the depths of space. 

               "Did I really die like that?" 

               "You didn't think you . . . presto, zapped right up here, did you?" 

               "Yeah, I kinda thought, you know, out, out brief candle." Everything had gone black and he had suddenly been on clouds. Real fluffy, white clouds. "How can he even look at me. After. . ." It had been so seriously selfish. Dying there, like that. Killed by stupidity. Putting his best friend through the wringer. How he could have just walked back into Steve's life? With a pathetic line like "_Just call me angel of the morning, Baby_!".

               "Steve loves you." 

               Yeah, and there was the heart of everything. Because Steve really loved him. Shown it in everything he had done. Sat by his bed while Marty died, and been pathetically grateful when Marty returned. And Marty had never returned the favor. Never done anything, except entertaining pathetic fantasies of jumping Steve the first chance he got. "Why didn't you just send me . . . down there?" 

               "And what would you have learned from that?" 

               A line from a movie struck Marty. Something about this babe who was given a second chance. "I have lived my life for nothing and nobody. Heady, I want another chance." 

               "What do you think this is, Marty?" 

               "No. I want to . . . live." 

               "I can't do that." Rod sounded sad. Like genuine regret tainted his voice. 

               "But . . . I . . . I don't want to be an angel anymore."  What could he give Steve? He wasn't real, it wasn't flesh that was wrapped around his bones. He had no bones. He was a manifestation. He had nothing to offer Steve except for his presence and it suddenly wasn't enough anymore. 

               "I can take that away, Marty. You'd have to be judged again, and your final residence established." 

               "No!" Marty shook his head. "Just. . . I think I have to see Steve." 

               "Sounds like an excellent idea, Marty." 


End file.
